


Love in a Coffee Cup

by IronPanda, Nostalgic_Kitty



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Coffee, Discussion of Abortion, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Flirting, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mentions of Abortion, at least I hope, fork violence, not your average coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronPanda/pseuds/IronPanda, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgic_Kitty/pseuds/Nostalgic_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's coffee shop remains busy, but something is missing in his life. That is, until Charles Xavier shows up. Erik's flirting attempts all fall flat. But a fight between Charles and his sister Raven may bring them closer together than ever.</p><p>ANOTHER coffee shop AU, with some added drama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee, Love, and an Ill-fated Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> For X-men reverse bang round three!  
> I can't believe I'm done writing this! It's been a real joy, and I can't thank my artist, pandamani, enough for inspiring such a fun little fic. Hope everyone enjoys!
> 
>  
> 
> [Here](http://xmenreversebang.livejournal.com/52109.html) is my post on LJ and the  
> [Art Master Post](http://pandamani.tumblr.com/post/110390146319/my-entry-for-the-xmen-rbb-round-3-im-a-little).
> 
> Now with added art in the fic! My lovely artist also did an extra piece that's absolutely wonderful. <3

Erik has always been different.

For one, he is a mutant. He controls metal and not many people like that about him. He’s been called a freak all his life, an epithet he despises almost as much as he despises the man who killed his mother. He’s also Jewish, an ethnicity he inherited from his mother and that he treasures dearly. That has also gotten him in trouble, in more ways than he would expect. Erik—were he an optimist—would have thought that anti-Semitism was a thing of the past, but he has more than enough evidence to prove otherwise. His childhood consisted of feeling like an outsider, a pariah, and utterly, hopelessly _alone_.

To a lesser extent, Erik’s decision to shelve his engineering degree and open a coffee shop named after a shark also has made him different. But it was always his mother’s dream to open a café, so Erik pledged to fulfill it. Any ambitions of his own were set aside when his mother was shot and futilely hospitalized. He tries not to think too much about the dreams he’s lost, these days.

Erik also dislikes people as a general rule, which begs the question as to why he works in a service profession. He prefers his coffee black as his soul, he wears turtlenecks during every season, and he exclusively works with other mutants. His penchant for lemon skittles, it goes without saying, is clearly the nail in the coffin of his abnormality.

Despite this lack of affinity for people, Erik still seems to attract quite the motley crew of characters. Emma can only be described as an ice queen with a deeply buried heart of gold. Angel is equal parts mischief and beauty. Alex has a hot temper and a fierce sense of loyalty. Even though Erik will deny it, he really does love the group of employees that help run his coffee shop.

His shop is located near the local college, thus causing it to attract a wide variety of endlessly irritating students that Emma insists are “good for business.” Erik puts up with them and their inane chattering to the best of his ability, though the obnoxious and constant questions about the name of Erik’s shop try his patience immensely.

Erik’s shop is named after his favorite type of shark, the sign above the door declaring it to be The Mako Café. Not many of the students—despite their _apparently_ quality education—seem to understand that it is a type of shark. Those who do, however, only end up puzzled—loudly questioning who thought that would make a good name for a coffee shop. Sometimes, the employees have to hold Erik back from snapping at them that it is a perfectly good name, _thank you very much_.

The real reason that Erik named the café after a mako shark is a painful matter that Erik avoids talking about to anyone. Erik is an intensely private person and asking will not reveal the answer. Only Emma, his closest friend, knows the story: how his last day with his mother before she was shot was a trip to the aquarium when he was 15. He had protested in the gift shop, but his mother had insisted that no, he was not too old to have a stuffed mako shark. Erik had capitulated grudgingly. If Erik had known that to be the last he would see of his mother healthy and whole, he would have gladly accepted a thousand stuffed sharks if only to show her how much he loved her.

As it was, she ended up in a bad part of town the next day. There, a man had shot her mercilessly, leaving her to bleed out in an alleyway. Erik will never forget the horror of searching for her when she didn’t return from work, only to find her unconscious and lying in a pool of her own blood. The red gleaming on the ground lingers in Erik’s memory, a permanent stain that refuses to wash out.

After a week in the hospital, fighting a losing battle for her life, Erik’s mother had slipped away in the night—leaving him to endure the hell of the foster care system for the next three years. Finally free of that, Erik had applied to college while he worked to support himself working odd jobs around the city. The week he spent as a florist’s assistant remains one of the most embarrassing times in Erik’s life; Erik is a man, and men don’t do flowers (even if they do smell nice).

How he came to own a coffee shop, Erik will never truly understand. As it is, the days stretch on, peaceful and calm: bickering between his employees and running the business occupy his time. Yet each day lacks a certain satisfaction and fullness. Even surrounded by people who care so much for him that Erik can hardly believe it, a fog of loneliness lingers still.

*

The first day the blue-eyed man with the ratty scarf steps into the shop, Erik nearly spills coffee all over the counter.

As it is, he does manage to fuck up about a third of the orders that he handles that day. Enough of them have gone wrong that Angel asks him if he’s doing okay. When he fails to answer and just gapes blankly, Angel steers him into the back room, calling to Alex to take over at the counter. Erik protests weakly, eyes still fixed on the man, and mutters some incoherent nonsense including words like “blue” and many “no”s. Once she’s cornered him in the supply closet, she begins her interrogation:

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you, Lehnsherr? You’ve been spacing out since 11 and you _never_ space out. You’re Captain On-top-of-it, normally,” Angel demands, gesturing with an accusing finger pointed at Erik’s chest. “Come on, out with it!”

“This guy—he’s—he walked in and—scarf looks stupid, but—his _eyes_ ,” Erik stammers, head swimming. What the fuck is wrong with him?! He hasn’t even talked to this guy yet, and he’s already losing it. Realization dawns on Angel’s face, a mischievous grin spreading on her lips.

“Lehnsherr, did you just _fall in love at first sight_? Ohmygod, wait until Emma hears about this!” She cackles, doubling over in amusement. Erik finally returns to his senses, grasping Angel’s forearms desperately.

“Angel, you can’t tell her! No one can know, _do you understand me_? If you value your job at all, you will _not_ share this. Am. I. Clear?” Erik bites out the last part, leveling his most threatening glare at her. Frustratingly, she laughs it off and throws a “Sure thing, boss!” over her shoulder, leaving Erik to contemplate his life’s choices alone in the dark, with only the coffee filters for company.

*

The next day the man shows up is a Tuesday. Erik manages to staunchly avoid staring at him this time, focusing on the orders to avoid the suspicions of his employees. He succeeds on all fronts. That is, until the man comes up to him to order a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, my friend. How are you today?” the man says, a British accent curling around his vowels and consonants in a hypnotizing manner. Erik’s heart flutters in his chest; he’s always had a weak spot for accents.

“F-fine. And you?” Erik says, mentally patting himself on the back for managing coherent speech.

“Oh, I’m doing splendid! Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to order one white chocolate latte,” the man says. He holds out his own mug, gesturing politely with it when Erik has to shake himself to return his breathing to normal.

“Sure thing. And the name?” Erik asks, trying to conceal his excitement at finally learning the man’s name. Their fingers brush when he takes the mug, sliding lightly past each other.

“Charles,” he says, his eyes twinkling with some unfathomable amusement. Erik blushes a bit, though he’ll deny that fact to his grave and beyond. Erik pulls a piece of tape from the dispenser and scrawls “Charles” on it in messy writing, placing the piece onto the mug reverently.

“I’m Erik. Just—by the way. I run this shop,” Erik says, slipping his name mock-casually into the conversation

“That’s a wonderful name! It’s very nice to meet you, Erik,” Charles says, shaking Erik’s hand firmly. Erik coughs awkwardly and says with some forced firmness:

“Your order will be ready in a bit. Please feel free to have a seat while you wait.”

“I definitely will. Thank you so much, Erik,” Charles says, smiling blindingly.

“Don’t mention it,” he says. Erik blushes again, hoping Charles doesn’t notice the abnormal color in his cheeks. Charles walks to a nearby armchair to wait.

Within the next 10 minutes, Erik finishes the coffee and delivers it to an ecstatic Charles, who thanks him profusely once more. Erik—feeling suddenly humble and embarrassed, despite the fact that he makes a mean white chocolate latte—deflects the thanks and shyly tells Charles to come again. Charles only smiles a secret smile just for Erik and leaves the shop.

Erik hopes desperately that Charles will return.

*

And he does, to Erik’s delight. Charles begins to form a routine, coming in every morning before he teaches at the nearby university—through their conversing Erik has learned that Charles is a professor of genetics—and even coming in on weekends. Soon enough, Charles becomes an irreplaceable part of Erik’s day. It’s like their conversations give him life, letting him breathe and be more comfortable than ever before. Day by day, Erik is falling more and more in love with Charles.

Their interactions only serve to increase this affection, it seems. One day, Erik is forced to make a coffee filter run when Alex _fails to do his job_ and restock. Just as he moves to exit the door, Charles enters the shop. Embarrassingly, they both get rather tangled up in the doorway, exchanging awkward apologies.

“I’m sorry, my friend!”

“No, it’s my fault.”

“I insist that the fault is mine.”

“Don’t be silly, Charles.”

“I’ll just extricate myself first then.”

“No wait your scarf is—”

“—caught on your button, I see. Oh dear, this is quite the mess isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.”

They both laugh it off, managing to move past one another. Erik secretly hopes that the blush on Charles’ cheeks isn’t merely from the cold. He can’t keep from smiling all the way to the store.

*

The day that Erik tells Charles about his mutation is one of the best days he can remember having since losing his mother. Charles comes into the shop on a Saturday morning and orders his white chocolate latte as usual. Despite Erik’s attempts to persuade him otherwise, Charles staunchly refuses to drink anything else, insisting that it is simply too delicious to forgo for a day. One time—seemingly just to appease Erik—Charles even orders _two_ coffees just so he can try the bestseller that day. Erik had been at first dumbfounded and then completely touched.

Today he makes the coffee for Charles with the same care as always, stirring a dusting of cinnamon into the drink housed in a sky-blue cup sporting a genetics joke that Erik doesn’t fully comprehend. The weight that tips the scale and reveals his mutation is one of Erik’s few clumsy moments: just as he moves to hand Charles his coffee, Erik’s foot catches on the mat behind the counter and sends him lurching forward. Quickly extending his powers to catch the cup by twisting the spoon about its handle, Erik realizes all at once that Charles is staring at him wide-eyed and shocked.

Fearing the worst—yet more prejudice, from someone he considers to be a dear friend—Erik steels himself and responds cautiously:

“Yes, in case you hadn’t known, I am a mutant. Is this going to be a problem, Charles?” Erik asks, growling the last part a bit.

“A problem? Oh, my friend, no! Quite the opposite, in fact! You see I myself am a mutant as well,” Charles says with a sheepish smile. “I’ve been dying to learn your mutation since Alex mentioned your shop.”

“Wait, you knew I had a mutation? Why didn’t you say something, Charles?” Erik asks, puzzled. Charles looks at him even more sheepishly, flicking his eyes down to his hands.

“Well, I knew that asking you about your mutation would necessitate that I share mine. I’m a telepath, Erik, and I feared that your reaction to that fact may not be entirely pleasurable,” Charles says, a timid lilt diminishing his voice. Reaching out to clasp his hand on Charles’ shoulder, Erik tries to reassure Charles to the best of his abilities.

“That’s not an issue at all, my friend. All my employees are mutants, as you must have gathered. My senior manager and best friend is a telepath herself, albeit one that can turn into diamond. I would never shun you for who you are. Don’t you know that?” Erik says the last part gently, hoping to take the edge off the sadness that Charles appears to be radiating. Finally Charles looks back up, warm gratitude gracing his features.

“Thank you so much for the reassurance, Erik. I’m sorry to have ever doubted you. I merely was too scared to tell you, I’m afraid,” Charles says, his lips curving apologetically. “Though I can’t say that I can do anything as flashy as turn to diamond.”

The mood sufficiently lightened, Erik laughs along with Charles at his remark. Their conversation wanders back to Erik and his mutation, which he explains to a rapt Charles. The specificity of his mutation and its link to his affinity for metal make Charles absolutely burst to life with questions. Being a geneticist himself, Charles doesn’t seem to tire of the subject even after a couple of hours of talk.

At some point during their conversation, Angel takes over manning the counter to allow them to continue. Erik follows Charles to the front of the shop, where they sit in two arm chairs while they discuss mutations in general. Charles’ passion shines through inexorably in his rapid speech and his animated hand gestures.

After some time has passed, there is a gentle lull in the conversation. They smile stupidly at each other, both thankful to have found a friend. Erik basks in a state of perfect contentment, willing to simply soak up Charles’ presence while he can. Then Charles breaks the silence, face taking on a whole new level of excitement:

“Speaking of mutations! I’ve been meaning to ask you, my friend, about the name of your shop. Does ‘The Mako’ refer to the shortfin or longfin variety of shark? From the logo on your apron, I gathered that it must be the shortfin but I couldn’t be sure, considering how similar the two species appear,” Charles says speedily, coming to a stop when he notices the dazed look on Erik’s face. “Oh dear, I’m boring you, aren’t I? When I get going, no one can stop me unless they tell me directly to shut up. You should have said something, Erik.”

“No, no, no! It’s absolutely fine! I enjoy talking to you a great deal, my friend. Please go on,” Erik says the last part shyly, hoping not to have come across too strongly. With a devilish grin that Erik wishes he could kiss off of Charles’ face, Charles begins anew:

“Now that, my dear friend, was your first mistake. I’m afraid you’ll never shut me up now!” Charles says, placing a playful hand on Erik’s forearm. Erik thinks his heart almost stops at the action. “Anyways, as I was saying: the mako shark. Also referred to as _Isurus oxyrinchus_ , it is really one of the most fascinating species in the Lamnidae family. It is one of only four known endothermic shark species, and its heat exchange circulatory system gives it a deadly advantage compared to its cold-blooded prey! If you don’t mind all the questions, may I ask why you named your shop after the mako?”

“No, the questions are fine. I’m just glad you knew it was a shark and not something else!” Erik laughs, caught up in the moment and the brightness of Charles’ eyes. “And the reason I named my shop after the mako is . . . well, it isn’t the happiest of stories. It reminds me of my mother, who was killed when I was 15.”

“Oh my friend, I am so sorry for asking. I did not mean to dredge up painful memories. But that’s a lovely gesture all the same,” Charles says, smiling sweetly and clutching Erik’s hand in his.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad to share her memory with someone I call a friend,” Erik says. His words register the briefest moment of regret in Charles eyes—Erik almost believes he can feel something brush against his thoughts. But then it is gone, and as they finish their coffee and continue their conversation, Erik only feels the love inside him grow.

*

Erik rolls out of bed two hours late, panicking once he notices the time. He had been up until 4ish running expenses for the café and apparently hadn’t heard his alarm. Throwing his clothes on, he rushes out the door—skipping his shower and realizing halfway through the walk to work that he is still wearing slippers. _Fuck it_ , he thinks, continuing on in with messy bedhead and clothes askew.

When he enters the shop, he sees Emma of all people standing at the counter in a pristine white suit, looking ridiculously composed and put together in comparison to Erik. _Of course_ she would decide to drop in on the one day Erik sleeps in.

“My, my, you look quite the mess, sweetie,” she says as he approaches the counter, tacit disappointment evident in her tone. “I thought you _ran_ this business, but you hardly look the part.”

“Good morning to you too, Emma,” Erik growls, yanking on his apron and shooing Alex from behind the counter so that he can start serving coffee.

“Looking good, Boss Man!” Alex throws over his shoulder as he heads into the back, snickering at something Angel whispers to him. Emma gives them a blank glance with the smallest curl of amusement tucked into the corner of her mouth before continuing:

“I mean, honestly, Erik. As the owner, you should at least make a marginal effort to set an example for your employees,” she tsks. Suddenly, a wicked grin spreads across her face as she unfolds her arms and braces one on the curve of her hip. “Especially considering your little crush is approaching the shop as we speak.”

“What—how do you—I am going to _kill_ Angel,” Erik splutters, before he processes what Emma has said. “CHARLES IS COMING HERE NOW?!” His voice reaches a high pitch of unprecedented levels as he desperately tries to think of what to do.

Finally, he yanks the apron back off and throws it towards Emma, who catches it with a huff of dissatisfaction and surprise.

“Quick, put this on!” Erik squeaks, ducking down behind the counter as Emma looks on with clear mirth. She holds the apron delicately, like the smudged coffee grounds are the most offensive thing on earth.

“Sorry, sugar, I’m not going to do you any favors in this department,” she says, grinning again and throwing the apron back at Erik’s face. “Looks like you’re on your own, Erik.” She then saunters over to a nearby armchair and sits down, demurely crossing her legs at the ankle. She studiously ignores Erik’s wild motions for help, perusing a magazine.

Just then Charles enters the shop, looking perky and beautiful as always. Erik has no time to do anything but duck behind the counter again, franticly gesturing towards Angel for help. She walks over and sighs dramatically before moving to stand behind the counter.

“Welcome to The Mako Café, how may I help you?” she says, holding back laughter when she glances towards Erik. He kicks her in the leg to make her look away.

“Oh, um . . . I was wondering if Erik was in?” Charles ventures, looking disappointed and sad around the eyes.

“Well, actually, he’s right—ow—not in yet,” Angel says, glaring down at Erik when he punches her again. Charles looks, if anything, even sadder.

“O-okay. I’ll just wait until him comes in, then?” he says, moving to sit in the chair next to Emma. Sensing impending doom, Erik jumps up from behind the counter and races over to Charles and Emma. If he lets them have even a moment of conversation, Emma will definitely reveal the way he feels about Charles and ruin everything.

“Charles! There you are! I was looking for you,” Erik says, coming to a shaky stop in front of the two telepaths. Emma smirks in triumph, while Charles practically lights up upon seeing Erik.

“Erik, my friend! I thought you weren’t in yet. Apparently your workers were confused,” he says, glancing back towards Angel where she stands stifling giggles into her hand with Alex. “I was concerned since you are always here when I come in. Don’t make me worry like that!” Seemingly oblivious, Charles fails to notice Erik’s state of disarray and is wholly focused on conversing like they usually do.

“Sorry, sorry! It won’t happen again, I promise. Now what would you like to drink? The usual?” Erik asks, thanking any God that’s listening for preventing his complete and utter humiliation in front of Charles.

“Yes, a white chocolate latte please. Now why was it you were looking for me, exactly?” Charles asks. _Shit_ , Erik thinks. Why was he looking for Charles? He doesn’t fucking know, he made it up in the heat of the moment. Time to improvise some more—which would be easier if the only thing running through his head wasn’t _because I love you_.

“I was, uh, just wondering if maybe you wanted to try a new drink?” Erik says quickly. Charles looks puzzled at first—considering that Erik has just confirmed his usual with him—but then seems to shake it off.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but I simply can’t give up your white chocolate latte. It is my favorite, after all. Like love in a coffee cup!” he says with a blinding smile.

“Okay, if you insist,” Erik says, moving to go make Charles’ order, trying not to wish that Charles was talking about him and not his _coffee_.

“Wait, before you go, would you mind introducing me to your lovely telepath friend here?” Charles asks. Goddammit, Erik thought he got away with ignoring Emma entirely.

“Charles, this is Emma. Emma, Charles,” Erik grits out the last part, leveling his best “talk and you die” glare at Emma. She remains perfectly unfazed, placing a genuine smile on her face as she turns and extends a perfectly manicured hand towards Charles. Charles shakes the proffered hand enthusiastically.

“It’s very nice to meet, you Emma! It’s not often that I have the pleasure of encountering another telepath, let alone one as stunning as yourself,” Charles says, turning up the charm and practically _flirting_ with Emma. Erik is so very glad that Charles’ natural state of being is a flirtatious one, or else he would have some competition.

“Likewise, honey,” Emma says, still smiling. “Erik here has told me _nothing_ about you, but I’m pleased to meet you nonetheless.”

“Oh, he hasn’t, has he?” Charles says, clearly disappointed, his face going a bit sad once more.

“Only because you’re too wonderful to put into words!” Erik says rapidly, hoping he isn’t revealing too much. Charles lights up at that. Emma’s smirk becomes even more self-satisfied, somehow.

“It was lovely chatting with you, Charles, but I really need to be on my way,” Emma says, voice toned with _actual_ regret. Erik didn’t know she had it in her. Seems that Charles has a way of charming everyone.

“Don’t let me keep you, then,” Charles says. Emma moves to exit the shop, waving to Charles as she leaves, Charles returning the gesture. Turning back to Erik, Charles looks as if something is on the tip of his tongue. But Erik is too terrified of another potentially-awkward interaction to stay and find out.

“Right then, I’ll go make you your coffee!” Erik says cheerily, avoiding the impending conversation entirely. Charles merely nods from where he is seated.

*

And then comes the day when Charles forgets his mug.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Erik. I seem to have forgotten my mug at home. Please forgive me,” he says, his blue eyes sad and regret-filled. Erik is quick to respond:

“Don’t worry about it. It’s absolutely fine. I’ll just get you a disposable one, okay?” Erik says gently.

“Okay, my friend,” Charles sighs. “That’ll just have to do for today.”

Erik turns away to make the coffee, exchanging idle chatter with Charles as he does. He is just throwing a witty remark over his shoulder when he makes a rash decision. A need to do something about his growing affection for Charles has been building within him, and now he will act on it.

Feeling brave, Erik decides to take advantage of Charles’ disposable cup and go for it. He scrawls his number on the side as legibly as he can, hoping Charles will be able to read it. Taking a deep breath, Erik turns around and gives the cup to Charles, trying not to blush furiously. Charles thanks him and walks away, his slightly old-fashioned coat draped snugly around his form as Erik frowns embarassedly at his back.

 

> Erik has never been a superstitious person, but he crosses his fingers nonetheless and hopes for the best.

And then he watches as Charles sits down, finishes his coffee, and proceeds to recycle the cup. Not once does he glance at the number on the side, remaining oblivious. Erik growls and runs his hands through his hair in frustration, forcing himself to act normal when Charles turns to him to say goodbye.

Today just isn’t his day, it seems.

*

A couple days later—after Erik has nursed his confidence back to full health—he decides to try again. This time, he thinks he’s got it covered: he’ll tape his number onto the mug, casually point it out to Charles, and use his smooth charm to ask him out on a date. This way, they can see each other somewhere _besides_ a coffee shop.

But when the time comes to do so, things do not go as planned.

Charles come in far more rushed-looking than usual. He’s holding a haphazard stack of papers that appear to be essays, his scarf is only half around his neck, and his cheeks are flushed from running in the cold.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but it seems that I’ll have to take my coffee to go today,” Charles pants out. He slams the proper amount of money—change and all—onto the counter with a little more force than necessary.

“That’s fine, I’ll just make it as quickly as possible,” Erik says, trying not to let his disappointment bleed into his voice.

He had the tape ready to go and everything.

*

The last day that Erik tries to give Charles his number comes when the winter has just started to intensify. Snow clogs the streets and the trees are weighed down with soft white. When Charles comes into the shop, he looks sadder than normal, and his favorite mug is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, Erik,” he sighs, looking dejected and run down, as if from a long night of no sleep.

“Hello, Charles,” Erik says. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, it’s nothing earthshattering. I just had a small argument with my sister last night and didn’t get much sleep afterwards. I was up worrying, I’m afraid,” Charles says with a weak smile. “Oh, and my mug was a casualty of the argument, so a disposable cup will have to do for today as well.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the argument and your mug, Charles,” Erik says softly. “I’ll get you your coffee now, on the house, okay?”

“I really can’t accept—”

“I insist,” Erik says firmly.

“Okay,” Charles says, giving in.

As Erik makes the coffee, he thinks about his resolution to finally give Charles his number today. Considering Charles’ current state of mind, Erik doesn’t think that now is the best time. But last minute, before he hands the cup off, Erik writes his number on the cup regardless, scrawling an “in case you need me –Erik” underneath. Smiling a bit to himself, Erik decides that he’ll let Charles find that himself later.

“Here you go,” Erik says, handing the cup to Charles.

“Thank you—ow!” Charles says, the cup apparently hotter than usual. “I’ll just use one of these, then.”

Erik watches as Charles picks up a cardboard coffee sleeve and, without seeming to notice, slips it perfectly over Erik’s number. Sighing a bit, Charles makes his way out of the shop with a weak wave goodbye. Erik’s feels too sad on Charles’ behalf to feel sad for himself.

*

After that, Erik decides that it’s best for everyone if he stops attempting to ask Charles out. So he gives up and resolves to keep the relationship solidly in the arena of friendship. This lasts for two weeks tops.

*

The day he ruins everything is a day like any other. Charles enters the shop early like always—before the rush of morning people desperate for coffee—holding his new reusable cup in his gloved hands. But something about him that day is particularly beautiful in a way that Erik can’t quite place. Gazing openly at him, Erik makes an unconscious decision that lies just under the surface of his waking thoughts.

Charles walks up to the counter, smiling his lovely smile, breaking Erik out of his daze. He says good morning in his smooth accent, the syllables dropping from his lips like precious gems. Erik sighs dopily and wonders when he became such a sap.

Fetching Charles his coffee, Erik can’t keep himself from smiling dumbly. He hands it over and listens to Charles tell Erik about his day yesterday. Erik would normally be hooked on every word, but he just can’t seem to focus.

The words are shaped by red lips that practically beg to be kissed. So Erik does just that, leaning in and pressing his mouth to Charles’ swiftly, interrupting him midway through a sentence. When Charles doesn’t kiss back, Erik begins to panic.

Erik pulls back slowly, wincing when he processes what he’s done. Charles stands there with his eyes wide and his hand clutching his coffee cup close.

“Why—did you just—what—” he stammers out, face reddening quickly. Erik can’t help but appreciate the pleasant flush, the way it accentuates the pale, freckled surface of Charles’ skin.

Then Erik feels a firm mental hand stroke along his mind. It is clearly Charles trying to ascertain the “why” behind the kiss. Panicking some more, all Erik can think is _shit what have I done_ , his mind filling with regret and self-doubt. He thinks desperately that he wishes Charles wouldn’t enter his mind unannounced. Then Charles’ mental presence vanishes all at once, his face going shuttered and regretful as well.

“Well then, I best be going,” Charles says stiffly. Erik reaches out a limp hand, before dropping it uselessly to his side.

“Charles, I—” Erik begins, halting when he hears the bell on the door chime, signaling the first rush of customers entering The Mako. They push past Charles, jostling him into spilling his coffee on his blue cardigan.

“I’ll just go . . . clean up, then,” he chokes out. And Erik watches as he disappears into the crowd, still blushing and shaken.

What has he done, Erik wonders.


	2. The Resolution

The next morning, Erik both hopes for and dreads Charles’ arrival. On the one hand, the tiny optimist within him is hoping that Charles returns his affections and that he was just a bit startled by the kiss. But on the other, his far larger pessimistic side insists that Erik is making the whole thing up, that it’s some wild fantasy worked up into a make-believe reality, and that Charles secretly despises him for ruining their friendship. Either way, Erik thinks, he’s done with lying to himself and Charles both; he loves Charles and he won’t deny it any longer.

Yet days go by, with no Charles appearing in the shop. Whenever one of Erik’s workers attempts to ask him about Charles’ absence, Erik just goes quiet and sad, refusing to answer and lashing out with violent words if he is pressed. Eventually, his workers stop asking after Charles. Emma merely walks up to Erik one day and hugs him consolingly, leaving without a word. Each day that passes makes the hole in Erik’s chest, the loneliness, and his rage at himself grow.

After a week passes, he falls into a new pattern—one without the daily comfort of Charles’ company. Each day begins bright and wintery, taunting Erik with its happiness. The college kids seem all the more annoying, his workers more incompetent, his temper quicker. Charles made so much of him better; without him, Erik can’t stand the person he’s become.

One day, while Erik is taking a midday walk in the nearby park, he accidentally wanders just a bit too close to the university. Stomping grumpily through the grass and off the path, Erik comes to a full stop when he recognizes Charles walking to class to teach. A name-brand coffee cup is clutched in his hand and his eyes are even bluer than Erik remembers. But some almost imperceptible sadness lingers at the edges of his mouth, the corners of his eyes, the line of his brow. Too afraid to find out what it means, Erik turns fully around and gets the hell out of there like his life depends on it.

As the days pass and it reaches two full weeks since he’s seen Charles, Erik begins to regret having ever kissed him in the first place. _Goddammit_ , Erik thinks.If only he had left it alone. Agony with Charles in his life as a friend must surely be better than agony without Charles in his life at all.

*

That night, Erik closes up early, begging exhaustion. His employees look worried, but says nothing. He walks through the snow towards home, shivering against the cold. Just as he reaches his apartment, however, he receives a text. He pulls out his phone, sighing, to check on what it is.

It is from an unknown number, and all it reads is “Can you come to the shop please? I need to talk to you.” Rolling his eyes in exasperation—assuming that it must be one of his workers who’s forgotten to tell him they have a new number or some shit like that—Erik throws his work bag into his apartment, grabs another, heavier scarf, and heads off. The ten minute walk through a mild snow storm is not something he is looking forward to.

Erik walks along the sidewalk towards the café, pausing when he sees a figure huddled under the awning out front. The figure shivers and inches closer towards the door as the wind picks up some snow, flinging it through the air. Upon closer inspection, he recognizes the figure to be Charles. Erik stops in his tracks, shocked.

“Oh, h-hello, Erik,” Charles stammers out past chapped lips, his mouth pulling up in a forced grin.

“What are you doing here?” Erik asks, wariness making his tone hard. Charles must be freezing out here. New York winters are rarely kind, and Charles’ fingerless gloves reveal reddening fingers chilled from too much time outside.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—c-come. I’ll be going now, you clearly don’t want to be bothered . . .” Charles says, trailing off and turning to leave, a shimmer of tears glistening in his eyes. The tears catch the light from the street lamps as he turns, making them blatantly, _painfully_ obvious to Erik. He reaches out and catches Charles’ hand, pulling him to a stop.

“No, really, Charles. Don’t go. I—I was being stupid, I genuinely want to know why you’re here,” Erik says, cautioning a slight squeeze of Charles’ hand, hoping it only reads as sympathy and not the thinly-veiled affection that it actually is.

“Well, I just need—it’s a huge favor and I don’t expect you to say yes, but—” Charles says, looking down and pausing. “I need a place to stay for a little while.” He finally says, looking back up into Erik’s eyes with pleading guilt. Before even thinking, Erik replies, perhaps too eagerly:

“Of course you can stay with me.”

*

All along the walk home, Charles says nothing. No explanation, no apologies—nothing but silence and an implicit need to be left alone. When they arrive, Erik opens the door and holds it for Charles, who steps solemnly inside. Erik’s apartment is laid out economically, no space wasted. After the entry way, a small hallway leads past the kitchen and dinette to the living room, where a sad couch (the only one within his budget) sits innocuously. Further down the hallway lies his bedroom. Normally, Erik would offer up a tour, but Charles doesn’t seem up for it. Clearing his throat a bit, Erik speaks instead:

“Welcome,” he says. “Please make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” Charles says, small and sad.

“Here, let me turn up the heat and take your coat.”

“No need, I’m still a bit chilly.”

“O-okay.”

They both pause and stare at one another, waiting for the silence to end when they both know full well that it won’t of its own accord. Charles absently plays with a loose thread from a button on his coat, while Erik clenches and unclenches his fists within the pockets of his own jacket. Finally, Erik decides that they have been quiet for long enough.

“Would you like something?” he asks, escorting Charles into the dinette. “I have water, juice, tea, coffee—though I don’t have the means to make a white chocolate latte for you, I’m afraid.” Charles perks up a bit at the mention of his favorite drink, clearly responding instinctually to the mention.

“Don’t tease me like that, my friend. You know how much I love that drink. I missed it,” Charles says carefully, testing the waters of friendship once more.

“I’m truly sorry, Charles. I don’t know how you survived the last two weeks, living in such hardship,” Erik says, daring to banter a bit. Charles looks up quickly, then glances at Erik ruefully.

They share a small smile at the joke, the ice between them thawing just enough for Erik to break the unsaid rule not to ask why Charles is there.

“Charles, you need to tell me why you’re here. I know you’re hiding from _something_ ,” Erik says, gazing levelly at Charles. He watches as Charles proceeds to push his hair off his forehead where it has begun to dip below his brow. He sighs in resignation.

“It’s . . . rather complex. It’s not really a story that’s the enjoyable sort, Erik,” Charles says, closing his eyes as his brows pinch together in a tense manner. They both move to sit at the table, sensing that this conversation will not be a short one.

Erik reaches forward and clasps Charles’ hands in his own, feeling the worn calluses that grace the sides of his fingers. He resists the urge to kiss that spot of tension, to smooth away the pain.

“I’d like to hear it, all the same,” he says gently, noticing the impulse to stroke his wrist and releasing his hands as a result. Charles sighs again, drops his gaze, and begins:

“Well, my friend, it’s . . . Raven. My sister. We had a disagreement and I fear that the ramifications may well break our relationship into pieces.”

Charles shifts a little in his chair, slipping into professorial mode.

“As a telepath, I try my utmost to respect the sanctity of others’ minds. This requires a lot of shielding on my part, which is tiresome and hard to maintain at the best of times. Without restrictions, the minds around me flow and ebb like the ocean, thoughts breaking and falling all around. It’s quite the overwhelming experience, especially when I sense negativity and hate. But there is also so much _joy_ and the joy outweighs the harshness. Shielding is like placing a thick glass wall between myself and the roiling water; I can see and feel the movement still, but the sound is gone.

Charles sighs with regret.

“At the moment of waking, however, the glass cracks and the thoughts come flooding in. It takes mere moments to re-erect the walls, but—those moments were what mattered, this time.”

Charles pauses. He looks up, blue eyes shining with tears. Erik’s breath catches in his throat, but he reaches out and gives Charles’ shoulder a squeeze of encouragement nonetheless.

“Raven’s pregnant,” he chokes out, the last syllable nearly a sob. “She’s pregnant and I woke up to her thinking that she—she might get an abortion, Erik. She doesn’t know if she wants the child.”

“Oh Charles . . .” Erik says, trailing off, speechless.

“I know you must be thinking terrible things about me, that I’m trying to take her choice away. But that’s not it; I just know that she’s always wanted children, that she’ll regret making this choice just because she thinks she’s too young or too—too—”

“Too what, Charles?” Erik asks gently.

“Too ugly. She has the ability to shape shift, but her natural form is blue. The true her has blue skin and red hair and gold eyes. I seem to have somehow made her believe that I don’t find her just as beautiful that way as I do when she is blonde and peach. Now she’s so bloody worried that no one will love her child if it looks like her that she’s thinking of giving up something she wants so, so much.”

“Then tell her that,” Erik urges, moving to wipe a tear from Charles’ cheek. “Tell her and I’m sure she’ll understand. I don’t see how she could stay upset with you.”

“You haven’t had years of distrust of my telepathy and of me telling you to hide for your own safety to back that statement up, my friend,” Charles says with a weak laugh. Then he continues in a quieter tone:

“She was so angry, Erik. Even with my shields up, I could feel it radiating off of her in waves,” Charles says, voice still choked with tears. “She must hate me.” After the last word leaves his mouth, Charles allows some tears to slip down his cheeks.

“Shhhhh. It’s okay,” Erik says, grasping his hands again despite any romantic implications and despite the possibility for invasion of personal space. They are far past that at this point. “I don’t think anyone on this earth could hate you, Charles. You’re too fucking kind.”

Charles just holds on tight until he calms and releases Erik’s hands with what Erik hopes is a tinge of regret. Charles notices the chess set in the corner and challenges Erik to a match in order to “get his mind off of things,” he says. Erik gladly accepts.

They play chess late into the night, talking like they can never say enough to each other. They each relay their own individual stories, both the uplifting and the harsh. Erik provides Charles with clear pictures from his childhood of his mother and her great strength, of all the ways she raised him into the man he has now become. Charles tells of his and Raven’s escapades as children. Additionally, they talk of Erik’s mother’s death and the horrors that he experienced at the hands of the foster care system, as well as Charles’ distant mother and the ways he had to practically raise Raven himself. As far as talks go, Erik thinks this is the best he’s had in his entire life, barring the nonexistent one in which Charles confesses his love for Erik.

Once it gets late, Erik lets Charles take his bed and relegates himself to the couch, where he sleeps soundly until morning.

*

Over a late breakfast the next morning, they continue to talk like their friendship never stopped. After some time, Charles glances nervously at Erik during a lull in the conversation before speaking:

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Erik, that I am so very sorry for barging in on you like this,” Charles says, staring regretfully into his tea cup. “Especially when I stopped coming to the café so suddenly.”

“It’s perfectly fine, you can do what you want,” Erik says, keeping his sadness and frustration out of his voice.

“No, but I owe you an explanation—as to why I ran off that time,” Charles continues, nervously tracing the rim of his cup. “You see, my friend, I try not to pry with my telepathy. My sister made me all too aware of how intrusive that can be. But without it, I’m rather clueless when it comes to social cues. But on that day, I’m afraid I slipped and entered your mind against your will. Horrified at that terrible breach of privacy, thinking you hated me, I stayed away. And for that I sincerely apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Erik says, eyes lowering in shame at the remembered and obviously unwanted kiss. “I like you in my mind, truthfully.”

“R-really?” Charles stammers, not believing Erik. “But you reacted so negatively, I thought—”

“No, you’re not wrong. I was afraid of what you find in my mind, is all,” Erik says, flushing a bit. “I’m sorry I reacted that way, I truly do enjoy your mental presence.”

“That’s good to hear, my friend.”

They sit in silence for a bit afterward, Charles seemingly waiting for Erik to broach the subject they both know needs to be discussed. Erik glances up at Charles once, only to quickly look away. Finally, Charles breaks the silence.

“So are we ever going to talk about that kiss?” Charles says. Erik nearly inhales his tea, making undignified coughing noises to expel what liquid he does pull into his lungs.

“W-what kiss?” Erik says, attempting to divert the conversation. The adorable frown of frustration that falls upon Charles’ face clearly indicates that he is failing.

“You know bloody well what kiss, Erik. We simply can’t go on pretending it never happened,” Charles says firmly.

“It wasn’t ever supposed to happen. It was a mistake,” Erik says. Charles looks with further suspicion at Erik.

“For some reason, my friend, I don’t really believe you. Not even for a minute.” Charles looks at him flatly, unimpressed by his lie.

“Well, it wasn’t a _mistake_ ,exactly, but I didn’t mean to. I wanted to do it, but not then.” Erik curses himself for revealing that last bit.

“And why did you want to do it, Erik? Please tell me. I need to know.”

And when Charles looks at him with those piercing eyes, Erik knows he cannot lie to him. Not again. So Erik steels himself for inevitable rejection and powers through the next few sentences at lightning speed. He forces himself to look straight at Charles the whole while, not even blinking. Whether or not his heart is about to be broken, he wants to do this right. He wants Charles to hear him.

“I kissed you because I love you, Charles. I’ve been in love with you since you walked into the shop, God help me, and I thought that maybe—just _maybe_ you felt the same. Based on your reaction, however, I can’t help but realize _far_ too late that you have no such interest in me,” Erik says casting his eyes downwards to avoid the look of confirmation that must be on Charles’ face.

“Oh, my friend. You are very, very wrong in that regard,” Charles says slowly. His hands come to grasp Erik’s where they are propped together before him. Erik looks up all at once, surprise surely evident on his shocked face.

“You see, I feel entirely the same way, Erik.”

“No you don’t,” Erik protests weakly, too stunned to believe the words coming from Charles’ perfect mouth.

“I’m pretty sure I know my own feelings,” Charles chuckles, eyes twinkling. His hands still grasp Erik’s tightly, his thumbs running over Erik’s knuckles in tiny caresses.

“Well, i-if you say so . . .” Erik says, trailing off as Charles’ eyes flick down to Erik’s lips. Erik mirrors the gesture and begins to lean forward—when some persistent idiot obnoxiously begins ringing Erik’s doorbell at a near constant pace.

Sighing dramatically, Erik pulls his hands from Charles’ and gets up to go to the door.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Erik says, glancing regretfully at Charles.

“I’ll be here,” Charles says with a warm smile.

Walking around the corner and making his way to the entryway, Erik sighs again, hoping that whatever the person wants will be quick. Opening the door, he finds a furious, blonde woman staring him down. Before he can get a word out, she begins talking:

“Where is he,” the blonde woman asks. It’s not actually a question, her tone indicates, so much as a demand. Her eyes are hard and challenging, her posture rigid and proud. So this is Raven, Erik muses.

“That’s none of your business,” Erik says, attempting to close the door in her face. If this Raven is the cause of Charles’ downcast eyes and hunched body language, Erik doesn’t want her anywhere near Charles. The door fails to close, however, and Erik looks down incredulously to see one heeled foot braced in the doorjamb. Glancing back up, he meets Raven’s gaze once more, only to see her look of determination has turned into a frown of displeasure. Her eyes have gone yellow about the edges as well, signaling an aspect of her mutation is at work. Something to do with increased strength, perhaps, Erik thinks as he futilely fights her attempts to open the door.

“I said where _is_ he. I will tear this door down, goddammit, if you don’t let me see my brother,” Raven insists, getting a hand around the inner edge of the door as she uses her foot for leverage. After a small, futile skirmish, Raven pushes her way inside and marches past Erik into the apartment. Erik takes a moment to catch his breath before he jogs after her, praying that she doesn’t get to Charles first.

“CHARLES,” Raven yells, earsplitting and rage-filled. “CHARLES, WHERE ARE YOU?”

“You really shouldn’t be here,” Erik snaps, grasping Raven’s shoulder to spin her around in the midst of her mad search. She pries his fingers off of her shoulder with a painfully hard wrench of limbs. “This is my apartment. You have no right to barge in!”

“I have the goddamn right to do whatever the hell I want,” she says, before moving on to yell once more. “CHARLES!” Just as the last syllable leaves her mouth, Charles rounds the corner from the dinette, looking pained and shocked.

“Raven—” Charles begins.

“No, you don’t get to talk,” Raven cuts him off.

“But if you’ll just let me—” Charles tries again, but Raven’s fuming only intensifies. Her eyes are a golden yellow color now, clearly signs of her mutation shining through. Erik thinks she paints a menacing picture indeed.

“ _I_ get to talk. And you know what, _fuck you_ , Charles, for running off like that! We had an argument, I didn’t try to kill you! You worried me half to death, you bastard!” Raven yells, advancing a step towards Charles with each string of words. Erik stands back, aghast and defensive all at once, ready to call all the metal in his apartment to him if Raven tries to lay a finger on Charles. He sees Charles’ eyes harden in a way they never have before in his presence.

“Well, if my _excellent_ memory serves me right, it was _you_ who told _me_ to get out,” Charles bites past anger-pursed lips.

“Now let’s just calm down for a minute—” Erik begins, only to be immediately cut off by both of the Xavier siblings speaking simultaneously:

“I don’t need to calm down!”

He stands with his hands open-palmed before him, in a sign of surrender. Sighing, Erik decides to let things play out and intervene if it gets too ugly.

“You’ve never been there for me one hundred percent, Charles. It’s not surprising that you walked out when I told you to!”

“Well, you _told_ me to, so what else was I supposed to do? Stay there and let you hurt me, like you’re doing now?”

“Oh, please, spare me the victim act. You should have stayed and apologized.”

“For what?! All I ever did was for your sake. I only read your mind because I was _worried_ for you!” They’re standing toe to toe now, screaming into each other’s faces. Erik doesn’t know whether to be terrified or angry on Charles’ behalf.

“Well don’t be! I can take care of myself, thank you very fucking much,” Raven spits, the last part accompanied by a violent hand gesture towards Charles’ chest.

“If you can take care of yourself, maybe you should live without relying on your older brother for money. How does that bloody sound?”

“It sounds great! Maybe then I wouldn’t have to worry about you reading my mind before I even get a chance to tell you that I’m fucking _pregnant_!”

“I wouldn’t have pried if you weren’t thinking so loudly about getting an abortion! Don’t you realize what that means, Raven? You’ll be killing your child, one I _know_ you want, one that I’ve felt with my telepathy,” Charles says, moving to grasp Raven’s shoulders as he tries to talk her down. Raven’s eyes suddenly get wide and scared, the pupils constricting as they go fully yellow once more. Then they harden again, her rage starting up anew.

“Who gave you the fucking right to read my child’s mind? Let go of me, Charles!” Raven yells, knocking his hands from her shoulders and then pointing an accusing finger at him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the fuck out of this!”

“No, Raven, you _must_ listen to me,” Charles says urgently. “You must think very carefully about what you’re doing here. Don’t do something you’ll later regret.”

“What is that supposed to be, a threat? Shut up, Charles, it’s not like you know a goddamn thing about me. You don’t read my mind anymore, remember? Or is that a promise you’ve stopped keeping?”

“The ramifications of what you’re thinking of doing do not bode well, Raven,” Charles says more quietly this time, taking her wrists into his hands. “Do you really want to make this life or death decision based on fear? When you’re so afraid to be—”

“What, myself?” Raven says, breaking Charles’ hold and shifting in mere moments to the blue, red-haired beauty that Charles described to Erik last night. She’s even more stunning than Erik could have imagined—why would she ever want to hide that? “And whose fucking fault is _that_?” She punctuates the last phrase with a hard shove that sends Charles careening into the wall behind him, knocking a picture frame from its perch. As the glass shatters, Erik thinks _that’s it_.

In a moment, he has Raven pinned to the wall with a number of forks from his silverware draw. While she struggles and Charles pulls himself up from the floor, Erik decides that the fighting needs to end now.

“NOW THAT’S ENOUGH!” Erik yells, coming to stand between the two siblings as he calls more metal to him in the form of some spoons. “This is _my_ apartment, and I won’t have you two screaming at each like children any longer!”

With that, they both immediately freeze in place, Charles in the midst of brushing his clothes back into place and Raven in the middle of prying a fork from the wall where it is wrapped about her wrist. Putting his foot down and pointing authoritatively, Erik speaks in a menacing tone:

“Here is what we are going to do: you will stop fighting, you will sit down, I will make you coffee, and you will talk this out like the _adults_ you are.”

Charles and Raven nod dumbly.

Erik moves the coffee pot with a wave of his hand so that it stands on the coffee maker, ready to go.

*

Erik looks from Charles to Raven and back again. Raven—in her blonde form once more—and Charles sit across from each other, Erik occupying the third chair at his small table. An atmosphere of tension ensconces all three of them.

“Charles first,” Erik says, pointing. Charles clears his throat.

“Do you really believe that I think you should be afraid to be yourself, Raven?” he asks. Raven takes a deep breath, seemingly clearing her head.

“What else was I supposed think when you always told me to ‘be careful’ and that my blue form was ‘dangerous’?” she asks. Charles sighs and covers his face, before speaking once more:

“I never meant to leave you with the impression that I said any of that for any reason other than my concern for your safety. I just wanted you to stay safe,” he says, wiping his hands down his face. “I think you’re beautiful, Raven, and you always have been. And I don’t think you should let what the world thinks of you stand in the way of you and your child.”

Stunned, Raven allows a few tears to slip down her face as she flickers to blue.

“I really never thought that you—I can’t— _Charles_ ,” Raven chokes out between sobs. Charles gets up from his seat and moves to comfort her. Erik sits back and doesn’t interfere, thinking the moment a bit too personal for him to even be there. He watches as Charles grasps Raven’s hands in his, kneeling before her.

“I want you to know that if you truly want to get an abortion, I will support you all the way. But I think that, before you make that decision, you should see what your baby thinks of you—the _real_ you,” Charles whispers, brushing her red hair back behind her ear as he gazes into her eyes.

“You can—do that?” Raven asks, still wrecked and crying.

“As long as you want to.”

“. . . I do. Charles, please, let me feel it the way you feel it. Show me how my baby feels,” Raven whispers back, moving her hands—still linked with Charles’—to her stomach. With a brief but loving smile, Charles puts two fingers to his temple and keeps the other hand clasped tight with Raven’s.

Erik doesn’t know what they see together, both linked to the newly-forming baby’s mind, but it must be something magical. Because next thing he knows, Charles and Raven are laughing and crying simultaneously. They hug each other so tightly that Charles lets out a pained “ow.”

And then they are pulling Erik in with them and thanking him over and over.

*

Raven eventually falls asleep on the couch, exhaustion taking her over and sapping her energy. With some business still left untouched, Charles and Erik move into the hallway to talk.

“So,” Charles says.

“So?” Erik replies. Smiling again for the first time since Charles felt the baby’s mind, Charles takes Erik’s hands in his and brings one up to his face.

“So do you believe me now when I tell you that I’m in love with you?” he asks, punctuating the sentence with a kiss to Erik’s inner wrist. The touch is so intimate and loving that Erik can hardly pull in breath for his next sentence.

“Yes, I think I do,” Erik says, smiling back.

“Only ‘think?’ But I thought—” Erik cuts him off with a swift kiss that turns slower as they both realize that it is their first since that one in the coffee shop. Pulling apart, Erik watches as Charles glances between his eyes and mouth repeatedly and in a dazed manner. He moves to lean his forehead against Charles’, whispering against his temple:

“Read my mind. You’ll know that I believe you if you do that.” And without even asking if he’s sure, Charles plunges into Erik’s mind, twining them together as closely as possible while they both feel the other’s emotions. When they come to, they are both panting and clutching to each other for dear life.

“Convinced now?” Erik says, arms locked tight around Charles’ shoulders.

“Mm, very,” Charles purrs, tugging Erik forward by his t-shirt and into another all-consuming kiss. He pulls back suddenly, however, when Erik lets his thoughts get too far ahead of him.

“Erik, my sister is sleeping on your couch. I will not have sex with you while _my sister is sleeping on your couch_ ,” Charles gets out between pants.

“Shhhhh, you’ll just have to be very quiet,” Erik says before continuing to kiss Charles’ neck insistently, having moved away from his mouth.

“No, we are not doing this!” Charles squeaks. Erik presses one long finger to Charles’ lips and gives him his best seductive grin—which may or may not be regarded as entirely terrifying by the general populace.

“I said you should be _quiet_ , Charles,” Erik says. “I promise we can lock the bedroom door. I won’t tell if you won’t. She doesn’t even need to know.”

“. . . Fine. But not _one word_ , my friend,” Charles says, giving in more readily than Erik expected. Grasping Erik’s hand in his, twining their fingers together, he whispers:

“Show me the way.”

Erik guides Charles gently by the hand towards his bedroom, smiling so hard it hurts his cheeks.

Erik cannot wait to wake up next to this man every day, he thinks.


End file.
